WinniethePooh and Ten Grand Too!
by Rose103
Summary: When Gopher gives Eeyore ten thousand bucks to give to his bookie, Eeyore stashes it safely away at Tigger's house. But when the money turns up missing, it is up to Eeyore, Tigger, Piglet, and Pooh to find it before Gopher gets his butt kicked.
1. Chapter 1

WINNIE THE POOH AND A WEE STASH OF POT TOO

Twas a beautiful, bountiful, tranquil, evening in the merry merry month of May. Twlight was just starting to set on the Hundred Acre Wood meaning the residents would be out and about visiting the dumpy, corner, ice cream, stand, or roasting marshmallows around a bon fire.

Eeyore sat on his cruddy sofa inside of his single-wide trailer. Candles were lit, an empty bottle of Jim Beam sat on the coffee table. _Fade to Black _by Metallica played on the boom box.

Slowly, Eeyore lifted the gun and placed it into his mouth. He began to pull the trigger back just a hair.

There was a knock on the door.

"Damn it all!" Eeyore ranted and threw the gun down. Roughly he got up, turned off the boom box, and went to the door to find Gopher standing on his front stoop. What did that piss ass weasel of shit want?

"Am I interrupting something?" Gopher asked.

Interrupting was a vast understatement.

"Yeah actually," Eeyore spat.

Gopher being the nosy ball of fuck that he was tried to peer around Eeyore, into the trailor.

"Eeyore, what were you doing in there?" he pressed. "I smell alcohol."

"I smell ass," Eeyore replied and shot the door behind him, so Gopher could no longer look inside. "What the hell do you want?"

"I need you to deliver this money for me," Gopher said. With a flourish he took out a thick, manila, envelope. "Deliver this to Mr. Fox, he lives over in Auburn Hills near The Palace. Here is his address." Gopher scribbled it down on a piece of paper.

"The sooner he gets it the better, he's leaving to go on a mission tomorrow afternoon, so he has to have it by then."

"Go fucking deliver it yourself," Eeyore barked.

"I can't. If I do I'll get my ass kicked," Gopher replied.

"So you want me to deliver it and get my ass kicked instead," Eeyore finished. "You're a real piece of dick Gopher you know that? I am sick of you fucking middle class pro American bags of shit acting all nice and white bread, and then turning around and making me roll in your shit and do your dirty work for you so you don't have to get your ass kicked!"

"Eeyore he is not going to kick your ass," explained Gopher. "He only wants to kick mine. You don't even have to see him, just leave it in his door. It's payment, an overdo payment, an overdo payment for a large sum of money. He's pissed off at me because I haven't paid and I fear he might try and hurt me. He won't be mad at you though."

"Whatever the fuck is it for?" Eeyore asked.

"I just bought ten pounds of fresh hashish from him," Gopher admitted. "He's a prominent Detroit drug lord. I'm late with the money, it's a lot of money and I know he will bust my ass for being late."

"How much money?" Eeyore asked staring at the envelope.

"About ten grand," Gopher replied flatly. "Ten grand cash."

"Jesus!" Eeyore cried. Eeyore was lucky if he could come up with the lousy five hundred bucks of cash to pay his shit-fuck landlord his rent each month. Eeyore had no credit or checks, and five hundred was the most he had ever had of cash in his hands. He couldn't even fathom 10 thousand mother fucking dollars!"

"I had to sell my boat," Gopher explained. "Can you do it? Just run it over to him tonight."

"Give me one reason why I should help you out," said Eeyore. "I'm not friends with you, I don't even like you, I actually think you are bit of a tool. I don't really care one way or another if this Fox guy shoves a ram rifle up your ass and blows the trigger!"

"I will pay you a favor in the future," Gopher said sincerely.

Eeyore snorted.

"Yeah, I've heard that one before. You people are all mouth. You talk to cover your ass but all in all you don't give a shit fuck what happens to me. Go back to your shitty little Suburban home with your flat screen TV, GMC Tacoma, three kids you can't really afford." Eeyore turned to go back inside. Gopher grabbed him.

"Please," he pleaded. "I will give you two pounds of it, the hashish!"

"Oh?" Eeyore said interested. "I want half of it."

"Half!" squeaked Gopher. "That's five thousand dollars, no way!"

"Half," said Eeyore.

"Four pounds," said Gopher.

"Half," Eeyore said again.

"Four and a half," Gopher said. "That's final."

"Fuck you then," Eeyore replied and went back inside.

Two seconds later Gopher rapped on the door again.

"Okay you get five pounds of the hash," he said. "But you must give Mr. Fox the money as soon as possible."

"Yeah, yeah," Eeyore nodded and took the fat envelope.

After Gopher had left for kicks Eeyore opened up another bottle of Jim Beam, and opened up the envelope just to see what ten grand looked like. The money was 500 and 100 dollar bills, all crisp and new off the press. Eeyore put a handful up to his nose and inhaled the fine, musty, vintage, scent, of cash. Soon he would have a handful of fine, Columbian, hashish to sniff as well. Before long, Eeyore had counted up all the money, and he put it all back safely into the envelope. He was just about to go find his car keys so he could deliver it, but decided to finish off the bottle of Jim Beam. He ended up drifting away on the couch in a deep, deep, whiskey-induced sleep.


	2. Chapter 2

The sun would have danced through the window of Eeyore's single wide trailer except for the fact that he had a gray flannel blanket tacked over it. It was noon. Eeyore rolled over. He had passed out on the floor, between the couch and the coffee table. An empty whiskey bottle as his pillow.

"Oh fuck," he groaned. He sat up groggily. He hated morning. Why couldn't he just lay in bed forever? What else was there to do anyway? Go shopping to places like Home Depot and Wal-Mart and give the nasty corporations, tons of money?

Speaking of money, Gophers money! Where was it? Eeyore only panicked for a moment, for he saw it sitting safely on the coffee table next to his gun.

"I better give that mother fucker his money," he grunted.

Eeyore didn't bother to shower. The only physical contact he might have all day would be if he decided to go to the Valu-Inn on Gratriot Avenue, and get himself a cheap hooker from Debbie's. But they were usually dirty and smelly anyways.

Eeyore got into his beat up 88 Cutlass and drove over to Auburn Hills. Mr. Fox lived in a shitty little apartment on the boulevard. Eeyore got out, and rapped on the door.

A young, teenage, girl, probably a runaway who Mr. Fox had picked up off of the streets answered the door. She had on thick eyeliner, and purple eye shadow. She smelled like cheap body wash, like the kind you buy at Claire's,

"Uh is Mr. Fox around?" Eeyore asked.

"He left for the day," the girl replied, a big wad of chewing gum in her mouth.

"When is he coming back?" Eeyore asked.

The girl shrugged.

Oh well. There was nothing that Eeyore could do. Mr. Fox had left for the weekend. It was Gopher who would be getting his ass kicked anyway. Eeyore shrugged and left the seedy apartment building.

Eeyore had just arrived back at his trailer to finish what he was going to be doing last night, when the phone rang.

"What?" Eeyore barked.

"Hi Eeyore it's Tigger," said the voice on the other end. "I need a ride to Jay's."

Jay's was a Sporting good s store. Lord knows what crap Tigger wanted to buy there. Tigger only called Eeyore when he wanted something. Eeyore sighed.

"I'm busy," he spat.

"Doing what?" asked Tigger.

"Stuff," Eeyore replied. "Drive yourself."

"Can't," replied Tigger. "Remember I have a DUI, they susepended my license."

"Have Christopher-Robin or Piglet take you," said Eeyore.

"No answer," said Tigger. "Look I really need to go. I have been saving up my money all week to go buy some fishing line, some shells, some tackle. Dude! Take me."

"Dude, why should I?" asked Eeyore.

"You only call me up when you want shit. I sick of carting you around."

"Dude I'll give you anything you want," said Tigger.

This was Eeyore's week for getting shit between this and the hashish.

"I want one of your two tickets to see Iron Maiden," Eeyore announced.

"Man I'm sorry," said Tigger. "But I promised it to Christopher-Robin.

"Fuck Christopher-Robin," Eeyore yelled. "That little pipsqueak is too young to go to an Iron Maiden concert anyway. You give the ticket to me or else you don't get your ride."

"Fuck you," Tigger yelled and hung up.

Ten minutes later Tigger called back saying he wanted his fish hooks, and that Eeyore could have the extra ticket.

"Dude what's this?" Tigger asked.

Tigger and Eeyore were driving down I 75 after their outing to the sports store. Tigger had found the thick envelope of money.

"It's drug money man," Eeyore replied as he drove down the shoulder to avoid a traffic backup.

"Eeyore where did you get this dough?" Tigger asked. "Fuck! Let's go to the casino."

"Can't," replied Eeyore. "It's Gopher's. He wants me to give it to his bookie, but his bookie left for the day."

"Aren't you going to put it into a bank?" asked Tigger.

"Whatever for?" asked Eeyore.

"Well ten grand is a shit load of money," said Tigger. "What if you loose it?"

"Oh well" replied Eeyore. "It's Gopher's ass that's fried, not mine."

"You really need to keep it in a safer place than your car," Tigger preached.

"Well I left it out on my coffee table for the night," replied Eeyore. "If you are so fucking high and mighty why don't you keep it for the night?"

"I don't mind," said Tigger. "I can keep it safe for the night. Can I have some of the hashish involved?"

Eeyore thought for a moment. Even if he were to get stoned every night and listen to _The Wall _ for a year, he would still have plenty of hash left over. He'd have enough hash to smoke for the next ten years, and Eeyore certainly hoped he did not live that long.

"I think I can cut you a fair share," Eeyore replied.

"Sweet dude!" Tigger said. "I'll stick it in Roo's golf bag. That little piece of shit never golfs anymore. It just sits in the garage. It will be safe until tomorrow."

Eeyore was actually relieved when he handed the envelope over to Tigger. Ten grand was an awful lot of money to be responsible for, especially when it was for someone who Eeyore didn't particularly like.

Tigger arrived back home late that evening. After his afternoon with Eeyore he had went down to Rama's with his buddy Pete Moss for an evening of booze, tits, and pool, and bullshit.

Pete dumped Tigger off at home around 3 AM. In a drunken stupor Tigger staggered over to Roo's little Wilson golf bag. He unzipped the front pocket, which was perfect for golf balls, and tucked the envelope inside. He whistled as he zipped up the pocket.

"Wherever does Gopher get a stash like that?"

Tigger went up to his apartment that was over Kanga's garage. He happily collapsed onto the crappy mattress on the floor with flannel sheets that hadn't been changed in three years, that served as his bed.

He didn't wake up until late the next afternoon.


	3. Chapter 3

"Hey asshole! Wake up!" Eeyore pounded on Tigger's door the next afternoon. He wanted to get that money to Mr. Fox so he could have this Gopher bullshit over with and take his hashish, his gun, and Metallica CD, and finish what he was doing two nights ago.

Tigger rolled over and groaned.

"Go away!" he yelled and shoved his head under his pillow.

For an answer Eeyore kicked open the door and waded through the trash that cluttered the floor of Tigger's apartment. Tigger's apartment smelled like a combination of beer, fabric softener sheets, urine, and one of those hippie shops that sold incense, hemp necklaces, and moon crystals.

"Let's grab the dough and take it to that Mr. Fox dude," Eeyore said. "Get up!" he began whacking Tigger over the head with a pillow.

"Get a life man, Jesus!" Tigger squealed. "I was up late last night."

"We have ten thousand bucks in our care," said Eeyore. "I want to get it the fuck out of my responsibility."

"It's safe," Tigger replied. He rolled over and scratched his ball sack to make sure that it was in the proper place. "I put it in Roo's golf bag."

"Roo's golf bag!" Eeyore exclaimed. "What if he takes it?"

"That little tit hasn't played golf in over a year," Tigger replied. "Those clubs sit and gather dust just like all the other shit his parents have bought him over the years."

"Well hurry up," said Eeyore. "I have shit to do this weekend."

"What?" Tigger asked. "You got no life? Going to sit around in your shitty ass trailer, smoke weed, listen to Exodus, and masturbate?"

"Something like that," mumbled Eeyore. "Hurry up!"

Within minutes Tigger was ready and they traipsed downstairs to the garage.

"It's right over here," Tigger said and gestured to a pile of trash in the corner.

"I don't see no golf bag," said Eeyore.

Tigger began to wade through the pile. There was a weed whacker, car bra, a couple of inner tubes, a pitch fork, and a snow mobile, but no golf bag.

"Dude it was right here last night," Tigger exclaimed. "Right on top of the snow mobile. I zipped it up in the front pocket."

"You better not have spent it on titty dancers!" said Eeyore. "You know if Gohper doesn't kill us, the bookie will go after us."

"The titty dancers down at the club aren't even worth a pot to piss in let alone ten grand," Tigger laughed, however there was nervousness in his voice.

Even though Tigger was wasted drunk last night he clearly remembered putting the money in Roo's bag. Tigger could always remember things even when drunk. Sometimes he would claim that he didn't remember things like the time he grabbed Christopher-Robin's girlfriend's ass at Owl's Christmas party, and the time he hit on a twelve year old girl in the hot tub at the Best Western, but he always remembered. Sometimes in those situations it was just easier to claim not remembering, than admitting to acting like a complete jack off.

Tigger and Eeyore searched though the whole garage. Kanga had a lot of shit in her garage. Her defense lawyer husband Geoffrey, had lots of money so he had lots of toys. There was exercise equipment, skis, pool equipment, tennis rackets, and bicycles.

"Hell fire!" Tigger spat and chucked a bicycle across the garage. It nearly missed Kanga's Jaguar. "Where the fuck could it be?"

"Well maybe Roo decided to play golf," Eeyore suggested. "Let's find Roo."

Tigger and Eeyore knocked on the door of Kanga's house. Roo answered the door.

"Hi Tigger," he greeted. "Want to play Nintendo Wii?"

"I'll give you a Nintendo up your ass," Tigger replied. "Where's your golf bag?"

"How the hell should I know?" Roo shrugged. "I don't play golf anymore. Golf is for old farts."

"We need the bag Roo," Eeyore explained.

"I don't know where it is," said Roo. "I think the garage maybe."

"What's going on?" Kanga had come to the door.

"I need Roo's golf bag," Tigger spat.

"Oh, well I actually loaned that out to one of Geoffrey's friends this morning. His grand son is in town and they were going golfing. He needed a set of child's clubs and Roo never plays. He's much to frail and sickly to play competitive sports."

"You fucking loaned it!" Tigger shrieked.

"Don't say fuck around my boy," Kanga yelled.

"Why? Dad does," said Roo.

"Shut up and go upstairs," Kanga snapped. "I don't see what's wrong. What's it to you if I let someone borrow Roo's golf bag. You wouldn't have any use for child's clubs."

"It does matter," Tigger muttered. "I had hid some shit in there, some really important shit."

"Tigger you own nothing important," Kanga laughed. "What? A pack of Marlboros?"

Tigger explained about Gopher, the bookie, the hashish, and the money. Kanga listened wide-eyed. You would never think a Suzy homemaker like Kanga with her Bible and her chocolate chip cookies, and her lawyer husband would smoke pot, but even they kept a stash around for the occasional Friday night haze.

"The man who borrowed the bag is one of Geoffrey's partners at his law firm. His name is Harold Daniels. I don't have a number for him. Maybe Geoffrey can ask him on Monday."

Tigger shook his head. Monday would be too late. The bookie would already have made his kill. Sadly they left Kanga's.

"Fuck!!!" Tigger screamed as they walked down the lane.

"Perhaps it won't be that bad," said Eeyore. "Bookies usually kill fast and efficiently. They like to do a smooth, clean, kill so they won't get caught. Usually a bullet in the head, sometimes they'll snap your neck."

"You idiot," Tigger sneered. "What if they decide to break our legs? Leave us crippled?"

"I might as well be crippled," Eeyore shrugged. "Then I wouldn't have to go out and do stuff and I could get money from the government. Probably get more chicks."

"You won't get chicks being crippled," said Tigger. "Chicks dig scars not cripples."

"No," said Eeyore. "Women like to nurse and mother. A crippled man is like taking care of a puppy. Anyway, I'm hoping Mr. Fox's men will just do a nice clean shot in the head. They'll put a pillow over the barrel so that it's quiet, and the neighbor's don't hear."

"You're fucked up," Tigger replied.

"Many happy returns of the day," Winnie-the-Pooh greeted. He and Piglet were strolling down the lane.

"Happy my ass," Eeyore scoffed. "What are you two douches up to?"

"We're going to The Thoughtful Spot to have some brie and baguette and some fine wine from Burgundy," said Piglet.

"We're also going to play Dungeons and Dragons," Pooh added. "Want to play with us?"

"No," said Tigger. "Eeyore, Gopher, and I are fucked. We lost ten thousand bucks of cash that was supposed to go to this bookie dude for some prime weed. The bookie is going to come and beat our asses."

"Oh bother," Pooh shrugged. "Well if you decide to change your mind and play with us, we'll be at The Thoughtful Spot."

"Pooh we have to help them," said Piglet. "Drug lords are even more serious than heffalumps and woozels."

"Yeah because Heffalumps and Woozels don't have machine guns," Tigger put in. He went into great detail about the golf bag and how Kanga had loaned it out.

"Why don't we just go to the country club and look for them?" Piglet suggested. "They probably don't even know that the money is there."

"We're supposed to ride up to the country club in my piece of shit Cutlass?" Eeyore laughed. "They'd shoot us at the gate."

"Well we could take my Lexus," Piglet offered. "I don't mind."

Piglet was independently wealthy. She was loaded and had a garage full of luxury cars, a house full of antiques, and a closet full of Chanel and Prada.

"Fuck, I'm game for that," said Tigger. "She's right. They probably don't even know they have the money. We'll go to the country club, we'll find them on the ninth hole, we'll ask if we can get something out of the brat's golf bag and then we're off the hook."

Or so they thought.


	4. Chapter 4

They drove up to the Hundred Acre Country Club in Piglet's shiny, black, Lexus, SUV that even had heated and air conditioned seats. The Hundred Acre Country Club was one of the nicest membership clubs in the United States. It was so nice that the PGA had held the U.S. Open there one year. It was a playground for Michigan's finest. Barry Sanders, Kid Rock, Mike Illitch, and Bill Ford, frequented it.

"So do we high-jack a golf cart and go find them?" Tigger asked.

"We can't do that," Piglet squeaked. "I suggest we go inside the pro shop and ask. Perhaps they know which hole they're on."

"Oh bother," muttered Pooh. "I have a rumbly in my tumbly. You think there's a restaurant around?"

"Yeah and they only have poser food," Tigger snapped. "We ain't here to stuff our gullets. We're here to keep Gopher's drug lord from ramming hell up our asses."

"I like it up the ass," Eeyore said.

Piglet, Pooh, and Tigger whirled around and stared at Eeyore like he had lobsters crawling out of his ears.

"Oh dear," Piglet murmured.

"Let's go inside," said Tigger. Tigger led the parade of Piglet, Eeyore, and Pooh into the fine club house that was decorated like an Italian villa. They even had a string quartet playing Bach partitas in the lobby.

Pooh walked right by them with his paw deep into the crack of his ass.

"Stop scratching your ass man," Tigger groaned. "You're in public."

"Oh bother," Pooh sighed. "I have such itchy butt sweat."

They marched into the pro shop that sold over priced polo shirts, golf gear, and Louis Voutton golf bags.

"Can I help you?" A man behind the desk asked. He looked at the scraggly band of Eeyore, Tigger, and Pooh with disgust.

"Yeah," answered Tigger. "We're looking for this dude Harold Daniels. They are golfing here. We need to find them."

"They went out this morning," replied the clerk. "They should be about halfway through their game."

"Well we need to go out and speak with them," said Tigger.

"Only members are allowed on the course plus there is a dress code," said the clerk.

"We just need to ask them a quick question," explained Tigger. "Can't we go on the course for just five minutes?"

"Absolutely not," said the clerk. "Paying members only. You can wait for them in the parking lot."

"Fuck that," Tigger yelled. "We ain't going to hurt your fucking golf course. We just need to ask someone a question."

"Pay the forty thousand dollars a year it costs to belong and you can go on the course," the clerk shrugged.

"I wouldn't pay forty thousand dollars for one night with Tara Patrick let alone to belong to a shitty golf course," Tigger ranted.

"I sure would pay forty grand for a night with Tara Patrick," Pooh sighed, still digging at his ass.

"If you do not leave I will call security," said the clerk.

Little Piglet stepped up to the counter. Unlike the others she was dressed nicely in designer jeans, a DKNY couture top, and Prada slides.

"Do you know who I am?" she barked.

"You're rude," replied the clerk.

"I'm Piglet Van Krupp and I am heir to the Van Krupp family fortune. I'm a celebutaunte, and if Paris hadn't teamed back up with Nicole for this upcoming season of _The Simple Life _I would have starred in it."

"Do you belong to this club?" asked the clerk.

"No but I belong to the Country Club in West Bloomfield," Piglet replied.

"Well that's not here so I can't let you out on the course. I don't care if you're Richie Sambora. No membership, no going out onto the golf course."

"Not only for a minute?" Piglet pressed.

"Not only for a minute," said the clerk. "Not even the pope or all the cardinals in the Vatican are allowed on this course without paying their dues."

"Oh dear," Piglet shook her head and stepped back. "I guess we'll have to wait in the parking lot."

"Well I think you're a shriveled ball of scrotum fuck!" Tigger yelled. "Come on let's get the fuck out of this shit hole!"

Pooh had been entranced by the plasma screen TV.

"Let's go Pooh!" Tigger barked. "Get your hand and your head out of your ass, and let's go!"

"Can we eat now?" Pooh asked once they had reached the parking lot.

"Well we're fucked for now," Eeyore said as he lit a cigarette. "There's always a chance we might miss them when they come out to the parking lot. We might never find that money.

"But then you'll die," said Piglet.

"Well it's not like I have much to live for," Eeyore shrugged and took a long drag. "I hope they beat the shit out of Gopher though. I hate that son of a bitch."

Just then Tigger noticed a boy carrying a bag that looked to be the same size and color as Roo's golf bag. He was with two older men. They set their bags down on a rack, and went inside the restaurant.

"That looks like Roo's bag," he pointed.

"Sweet let's get the money," said Eeyore.

"Well I'm not completely sure it's his bag," Tigger replied. A young, pimply, bag boy was sitting by the rack polishing golf clubs. "Piglet, go shake your titties in that kid's face to distract him while I go see if the money is in that bag."

"I can't do that," Piglet squeaked.

"Sure you can," replied Tigger. "If a stripper can figure it out, so can you!"

Piglet had no choice. Gingerly she walked up to the bag boy.

"You got a bag?" he asked.

"I need help with my bags," Piglet replied.

"Where are they?" the kid asked.

Piglet thrust her bosoms forward into his line of vision.

"Right here bag boy," she hissed.

Meanwhile, Tigger strutted over to the golf bag, knelt down, and examined the bag. Sure enough Roo's name was on the tag. He unzipped the front pocket for the golf balls and felt around for the thick envelope. There was nothing, just six golf balls.

Just then another bag boy was heading towards the bag rack.

"Damn it," Tigger muttered. He gave it one last feel, but could not find any envelope. He hastily zipped up the bag and sprung up.

"This one is named Nike, and this one is Reebok," Piglet was saying to the other bag boy while cupping her breasts.

"Come on perv-o," Tigger shot as he grabbed her arm and led her away to the parking lot.

"Did I do good?" she asked.

"Fine," Tigger replied.

"As good as the strippers?"

"Pooh doing a lap dance is as good as the strippers," Tigger quipped. "That's definitely Roo's bag, but the money isn't there."

"They stole it!" Pooh yelled.

"Maybe, but it ain't there," said Tigger. "We need to go into the restaurant and find them."

"They sure as hell ain't going to let you into that restaurant dressed like you are," said Eeyore. "You look like a bum's nut sack."

"Well then we'll send Piglet in," said Tigger.

"I'm in jeans though," Piglet pointed out.

"Yeah but aren't they like four hundred dollar jeans?" asked Tigger.

"Six hundred dollars," replied Piglet. "The sign said no jeans."

"Well can't you go into the pro shop and buy a dress or something? You have plenty of money," said Tigger.

"But it's not my fault you two are in this predicament," Piglet pointed out. "You shouldn't have been playing around with drug lords."

"Any of the cash you need to reimburse for the clothes you can have," said Tigger. "I really need you to do this."

Piglet looked at the club house and then back at Tigger and Eeyore. She sighed.

"I guess I'll do it. I do like to shop. But what do I say? I don't even know who to look for."

"Look for two old farts with a young blond haired boy," Tigger instructed. "Introduce yourself, say you know, Roo's dad, and be up front. Explain the situation. Don't mention the drugs, just say there was an envelope with ten grand in it. It's easier than stripping."


	5. Chapter 5

Piglet bought a small, pink, linen, sheath dress, from the pro shop. Once she bought the dress she needed a pair of pink high heel sandals to go with it, and then she needed the baby pink quilted handbag. You can't buy a kick-ass handbag without a kick-ass pair of Fendi shades, and she bought a pair of pin diamond earrings and a pearl choker to match.

"Are you finished pissing away our money yet?" Tigger asked. "This Daniels guy will be done with his lunch by the time you get done shopping."

"What if he spent the money?' asked Pooh.

"Then I'm going to fucking murder them," Tigger growled.

"And then the bookie will murder us," Eeyore chimed in.

Dressed like a preppy, country club rat, Piglet took a deep breath and entered the crowded restaurant.

"Can I help you?" asked the host who was dressed in a fine tuxedo and had a French accent.

"I am looking for two old men," Piglet said in her academic tone.

"Well this is a country club. We have a lot of old men," barked the host.

"They are with a little boy," explained Piglet. "One of them is Mr. Harold Daniels. He's a partner in my friend's law firm."

"I know Mr. Daniels," replied the host. "Right this way."

"She better not fuck this up," Tigger ranted.

"Well she got into the restaurant," said Eeyore. "Better than what we could have done."

"But I'm hungry," complained Pooh. "She'll get to eat all that good food and I won't get a single smackeral."

"I'm going in there," announced Tigger.

"How? They don't let bums in," said Eeyore.

"I'm going to go in trough the employee entrance," said Tigger. "I can pretend I'm a waiter. I've been a pizza delivery boy, I can figure out how to wait tables."

"Let me go with you," Pooh pressed. "I have to get something to eat, even if it's a left over rotted carcass. I'm wasting away!"

"Pooh you could be stuck on a dessert island for five years and you still wouldn't waste away," said Eeyore.

"You can go with me," said Tigger to Pooh. "But if you fuck anything up I am not going to cover your ass for you. They can report you to authorities."

"I may be a bear of minute brain, but I promise I won't fuck up," Pooh said. "I'm just going to go in, grab a dinner roll out of the trash and bring it back out here to eat."

"You promise one dinner roll," said Tigger firmly. "You swipe it out of the trash and then you don't eat it until you are back out here. Promise?"

"Promise," Pooh nodded.

"If you two get your asses thrown in the pisser, don't expect me to come bail you out!" Eeyore yelled.

"Yeah, whatever Eeyore," said Tigger as he and Pooh started towards the back entrance to the restaurant building.

"I can't afford dick! If I had a child I wouldn't even be able to afford child support!" Eeyore ranted on even though Tigger and Pooh were not listening. " I'm just lucky that I can't find a lay, or with my luck I'd knock up the first chick I slept with! Shit like that is always happening to me! Not only would I knock the ho up, but she'd be knocked up with twins! Now just who is going to pay for all that?"

"Eeyore shut up!" Tigger screeched and disappeared into the building.

Tigger and Pooh were greeted by two doors, one that said Ladies, the other Gents. They were employee locker rooms.

"Quick in here," Tigger instructed and pulled them both in the boy's room.

"There's no food in here," Pooh moaned.

"We need a uniform stupid," said Tigger. "They aren't going to think you work here wearing that gay little red shirt."

"But I like my red shirt," protested Pooh. "Tis comfortable."

Tigger reached into a huge canvas laundry tub. He fished out a pair of size 48 khakis.

"Try these on fat ass," he said and handed them to Pooh.

"But I don't like wearing pants," complained Pooh. "They are so tight and itchy around my waist. I'm just stealing a dinner roll. Can't I wear my red shirt?"

"No!" yelled Tigger who found pair of 32s for himself. "We are doing this the right way. Now quit your belly aching and put your pants on!"

Tigger also located two white button down shirts. They were smelly and stained, but it was all they had, and Pooh's was snug.

"Now let's go," said Tigger.

They walked through the busy, bustling, kitchen. Tigger quickly grabbed a water pitcher and made his way to the actual restaurant. He realized that Pooh was no longer behind him. He didn't have time to search for that waste of space either.

Tigger found Piglet, Mr. Daniels, his croanie, and the brat sitting at a table at the far end of the restaurant. Carefully he made his way.

"Take this to table twelve," a server said and placed a tray of eight bowls of soup in Tigger's arms.

"Where the fuck is that?" Tigger asked, but the server had already floated right on by. "Fuck this shit!" Tigger grumbled and placed the tray down on the floor, in the corner. He made his way over to the table. Fortunately, everyone at the table needed more water.

He began to act like he was pouring the water when he heard some very disturbing news.

"Well like I said, you can check with my wife up at my house if the money is there, but I haven't seen it, I haven't seen any envelope. Would you fancy a drink Piglet?" asked Mr. Daniels.

"A Kir Royale sounds nice," Piglet replied.

"Very well then," replied Mr. Daniels. "Boy," he said to Tigger. "Get this fine lady a Kir Royale please, and ad it to my account."

What the fuck was Piglet doing sitting around drinking with these people? They had a mission to accomplish! The money was still gone and she was sitting around with these pompous bastards drinking!

Tigger gave Piglet a dirty look.

"Can I have cherries in that too?" Piglet asked.

Tigger was just about to pour the water pitcher over Piglet's head when he heard someone yell.

"Stop that thief!"

Tigger and Piglet whirled around to see Pooh at the far end of the restaurant. He was standing at the table of fine French and Bavarian pastries. The pockets of his pants bulged with éclairs, napoleons, apple strudels, and cherry tarts. His cheeks and mouth was stuffed full with honey-caramel crème brulee.

A server started to run toward Pooh.

"That bear raided our whole pastry table!"

Pooh took off like a bat out of hell. The only time that Tigger had ever seen Pooh run that fast was up to the buffet line at The Warf's when there was only one crab leg left.

Pooh ran through the maze of tables careful not to loose any of the loot he had stuffed in his pockets, whip cream and caramel had drizzled down the front of his shirt. He grabbed a bread basket stuffed with mini muffins and mini croissants and clutched close to his chest.

"He stole our bread basket!" a woman yelled.

"Jesus!" Tigger yelled. "I'd know that toad would fuck it all up. We have to go Piglet!"

Piglet thanked Mr. Daniels for his help and followed Tigger as he ran out of the restaurant. With all of Pooh's commotion they did not notice Piglet or Tigger.

Pooh ran out into the parking lot. A mob of people were behind him.

"You have to pay for those pastries! You must be a member!" they shouted.

"Drats," thought Pooh as he began to run through the parking lot. "What did it matter anyway that he had eaten those pastries? What did they want him to do? Puke them up and put the vomit back on the desert table?

Pooh knew he couldn't run forever. He didn't remember where Piglet's car was. Whatever would he do?

Just then Piglet's Lexus SUV pulled up in front of him, and came to a halt with the tires squealing. Eeyore was in the driver's seat.

"Happy Returns Eeyore," Pooh greeted. "Want a berry and chantilly tartlet?"

"Get in the car ass fucker!" Eeyore shouted. Pooh began to fiddle with the door handle.

"Oh piffle," he muttered.

Tigger Piglet came up behind him. Quickly Piglet pushed Pooh out of the way and with her perfectly manicured nails got the back door open. She, Tigger, and Pooh leapt into the car and pulled the door shut just as one of the restaurant managers had grabbed the door handle himself. Tigger hit the automatic door lock button, but the manager kept clutching onto the door handle.

Eeyore floored the gas pedal, the tires squealed.

"Easy those are my Pirelli tires," Piglet screamed.

Another restaurant employee jumped up onto the SUV windshield. Eeyore kept the gas floored. Two other managers had climbed up onto the top of the car.

"Did you have to take those fucking pastries?" Tigger asked. "I thought you were only going to take one dinner roll."

"I was," said Pooh as he bit into a croissant. "But then I saw all these fabulous pastries. The crème brulee is to die for."

"Apparently so," Eeyore yelled as he pulled out in front of traffic onto the road. Car horns blared but Eeyore didn't dare slow down the SUV. One of the managers had fallen off, but there were still three managers hanging on.

They came to a red traffic light.

"I can't stop," announced Eeyore. "If I do they'll break the windows and get us."

"Go for it!" Tigger yelled.

Eeyore buzzed through the intersection at 60 miles an hour. A semi truck blared it's horn. Piglet began screaming and reciting Hail Mary's.

Sparks from the tires flew through the air.

Now only one tenacious manager held on. Eeyore merged onto I-75 so he could go even faster.

"Piglet you have your gun with you?" Tigger asked.

Piglet had always been afraid, especially at night, so she had gone out and bought a pistol for protection.

"No," she replied.

"But I thought you were always paranoid?" Tigger said.

"I don't carry it with me when I'm going to a picnic at The Thoughtful Spot," she retorted.

"Well we could have sure used it on these fuckers," Tigger growled. "He's never going to let go!"

All of a sudden Pooh hit the sunroof button and began to crawl out the sunroof, but just so that his head was visible.

"Pooh what the fuck are you doing?" Tigger exclaimed.

"You thief!" the manager yelled and stood all the way upright on the top of Piglet's SUV. "I'm reporting all of you to the cops!"

"I can give you the pastries back," said Pooh. "But you will just have to wait."

"Why the fuck do I have to wait?" the manager snapped. "You took what was mine."

"You'll have to wait for me to take a dump and shit them out," Pooh explained.

The manager was just about to pounce on Pooh when the SUV went under an overpass, knocking the manager who was standing up off of the vehicle. He fell onto the highway and was immediately run over by a truck in the next lane.

"Oh dear," sighed Piglet.

"Nice move Pooh Bear," Eeyore grumbled. "You got us into a fine kettle of fuck with this one! Now not only are Gopher's drug bookies after us, but the authorities are as well."

"Trust me Eeyore," Pooh said with a mouth full of gateau. "This cinnamon cake is absolutely, decadently, worth it.


End file.
